


Date Night

by Barrhorn



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (a hint of) roleplay, Established Relationship, F/F, Lingerie, Smut, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 23:12:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11701839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barrhorn/pseuds/Barrhorn
Summary: “Oh, this?” she says, lifting her hand gently to flash the ring. “I only wear this to keep away any undesired company.”“In that case, I suppose I should leave you alone,” Fareeha offers, though she doesn’t move an inch.And she’s rewarded with bright blue eyes flashing at her in amusement, another lingering glance at her shoulders and arms, and a murmured little, “I never said you were… undesired.”(Or: Honestly, it's a lot easier to pick someone up at the bar when you're actually married.)





	Date Night

Fareeha walks into the bar, letting the door fall shut behind her as she adjusts to the dim light, her eyes surveying the crowd. She’s always liked this place. It’s very small, and its beer list is extraordinarily awful, and they refuse to put up holoscreens to show the local games. But that keeps the crowds small and quiet, so while it might not be the best place for a party, it’s one of her ideal places to unwind.

And, she thinks as her sight settles on a blonde woman sitting by herself, long fingers twirling the stem of a wine glass, it’s always host to some beautiful women.

She strides rapidly toward the woman, because she didn’t come here to drink tonight, oh no. And she leans against the bar near her but on the other side of the stool, giving her plenty of space. “Hey,” she says simply. “Is this seat taken?” She skims her eyes over the woman, noting the way her hair is pinned back to show off the curve of her neck but allowing the tresses to brush her shoulders, the way freckles are dashed across those pale shoulders.

The way a ring glints softly on her ring finger, and Fareeha smirks. “Or is it being saved for someone already?”

The woman takes a moment to answer, letting her eyes sweep over Fareeha in return, clearly lingering on the way her arms fill out her leather jacket and the way tight dark jeans hang on her hips. A raised eyebrow clearly notes when she spots the marks on Fareeha’s own ring finger, though it’s empty of any jewelry. “Oh, this?” she says, lifting her hand gently to flash the ring. “I only wear this to keep away any undesired company.”

“In that case, I suppose I should leave you alone,” Fareeha offers, though she doesn’t move an inch.

And she’s rewarded with bright blue eyes flashing at her in amusement, another lingering glance at her shoulders and arms, and a murmured little, “I never said you were… undesired.”

Finally taking that seat, Fareeha hopes the motion disguises the way her body responds to that little line, to the new hunger in blue eyes. From the smirk she’s getting, she doubts she’s hiding anything at all.

And she feels warmth rise up in her chest, a wave of affection and tenderness that would probably be completely out of place if she hadn’t been married to this woman for the past few years. (The desire, she thinks, would be normal under any circumstance.)

Though by the rules of their game tonight, they’re ignoring that fact right now. “Fareeha,” she says instead.

“Angela,” her wife introduces herself, and Fareeha grins as if she’s hearing it for the first time. Angela immediately holds up a hand. “If a single angel joke leaves your lips tonight, I’m leaving.” Fareeha opens her mouth to respond, and Angela cuts her off again. “Without you.”

“I would never,” Fareeha says dramatically, a hand over her heart. “I’m sure you’re tired of hearing people ask if it hurt when you fell from heaven.”

It’s hard to catch all the things in the glare Angela shoots at her, annoyance and exasperation and a soft fondness. “Don’t abuse the fact that you’re good looking,” she says.

“I have to use it for something,” Fareeha retorts, and Angela rolls her eyes as she takes a sip of her wine.

“Confidence is also a dangerous card to play,” she warns.

Fareeha leans forward on the bar, letting her grin soften, letting a little of her posture loosen. Because even though the game is fun, even though they both enjoy the banter and the flirtations, neither of them have ever been particularly good at this part. When they’d first started to get closer, they’d both been a little awkward and nervous, trying to walk that tightrope between appropriate and not, between friendship and something more. Each of them wondering if it was a good idea to get involved, until it became impossible to consider any other possibility.

“Confidence,” she says in a quieter tone, “let me approach the most beautiful woman in here.”

And Angela flushes at that, looks down at the bar with a smile, because Fareeha knows she loves it when Fareeha gives her a compliment so simply and so sincerely. In a way that leaves no room for doubt.

“So the cocky lady in leather is a bit of a romantic,” Angela says when her eyes lift back to Fareeha’s. “Now I’m intrigued.”

“If you weren’t before, why’d I get to sit?”

Angela taps her glass with a fingernail daintily. “I was waiting for you to buy me a drink, of course.”

Fareeha laughs and hails the bartender, getting Angela another glass of wine and a whiskey for herself. She tips him well enough for him to ignore the way they’ll nurse these drinks for the rest of the evening, because they’re really not here to drink.

No, they’re here for the way that Fareeha turns and leans into Angela’s space as she tells her an exaggerated story about a past Helix mission, and the way Angela follows her every move as she shrugs off her jacket to show off the scar on her arm.

They’re here for the way that Angela’s hand falls carelessly to Fareeha’s thigh, more openly than if they were around their friends. For the way that Angela ducks her head in order to look up at Fareeha through her eyelashes, because Doctor Angela Ziegler is never one to play coy or be anything less than forthright, but Angela, just Angela, anonymous in a bar? That Angela lets go a little more, turns her face into Fareeha’s oh so conveniently close shoulder to stifle a giggle when Fareeha pours on the charm a little too much, tries just a little too hard.

Of course, it’s hard for her to keep a straight face when she tries herself, when she bites her lip in a pout or watches Fareeha move with her eyes hopefully smoldering. But if she has to look away, has to hide her expression in her wine, at least Fareeha is smiling, is watching her with so much love.

That look is why Angela can’t bring herself to remove the ring, even for the game.

“Another round?” Fareeha murmurs when they can’t even pretend to have something left in their glasses, and Angela shakes her head and Angela slides her hand a little higher.

“Not here,” she says.

Fareeha grins and stands, offering her hand to Angela. “Is there another bar you’d like to visit?” she asks, almost innocent. “I do have some lovely wine at home as well as a few things…stronger.” Holding back her laugh as Angela’s eyes rake over her again, she adds, “Or whatever you have at yours.”

“Is this your way of asking: your place or mine?” Angela teases, their hands lingering together. Because of course their places are one and the same, but it’s a kind of code between them, a subtle way of checking in and seeing how they each want the night to proceed.

“Forgive me if I’m trying to sound less like a one-night stand,” Fareeha tells her, and Angela’s eyes warm even as she laughs.

“A woman with ambition, I like that.” Her hand reaches up to brush some of Fareeha’s hair back, fingers lingering in a caress against her cheek. “My place, please.”

“With pleasure,” Fareeha says, escorting her outside, opening the door to the car for her and taking her home.

Angela unlocks the door and as they step inside, she draws Fareeha down into a kiss. Fareeha smiles into it, feeling Angela’s fingers sliding through her hair before drifting down her neck and shoulders, down the arms she’s been admiring all night long, down until her fingers entwine with Fareeha’s.

Angela pulls back slightly, presses their foreheads together. “Fareeha?” she murmurs.

“Yes, love?”

“Put your ring back on.”

Fareeha laughs and gestures to the bedroom. “In my nightstand,” she says and Angela tugs her gently forward.

“Convenient, since that’s where we’re heading anyway.” Fareeha’s fingers are squeezed as Angela glances back, that determined look back in her eyes.

“Bossy tonight,” she teases and Angela stops by the side of the bed.

“You have no idea. Now. Ring first.”

Fareeha pulls open the drawer and retrieves the ring, slipping it onto her finger without much show, until she raises her hand for Angela’s approval.

And Angela gives it by stepping forward, by taking Fareeha’s hand lightly in her own and pressing a kiss first to the ring and then to her palm. Her fingertips stroke the back of Fareeha’s fingers, and her eyes hold that same hunger from the bar and yes, Fareeha has some idea of how tonight’s going to go. “Now,” Angela says again, the word pinpoint precise in contrast to her soft touch. “I want to see you in nothing but that ring.”

Fareeha grins, grips the zippered edges of her jacket, lets her hands slide slowly up them before pulling the jacket down off her shoulders. She flexes, just slightly, as the leather falls away from her biceps, watching the way Angela is biting her lip without thought this time, without realizing. She lets the jacket fall to the floor, then strips off her shirt in one easy movement, tossing it more carelessly aside.

“You know,” she says, flicking the button of her jeans open, lazily drawing down the zipper. “This doesn’t seem quite fair to me.”

Angela hums playfully as she takes the clip out of her hair and runs her hands through it. “If you want something, I suggest you take it.”

And Fareeha doesn’t hesitate, because it’s real and it’s genuine, but she knows that Angela’s hiding something, knows the way her eyes darken with delight when Fareeha steps forward, when her hands grasp the bottom of her shirt. Knows the smirking, eager impatience with which Angela’s hands cover for Fareeha’s for just a moment, urging her on, because Angela’s never really been able to keep a straight face about a surprise.

Still, when she pulls the top off, she’s barely distracted by Angela’s low laughter, not at all embarrassed by the way her mouth runs dry or her breath catches in her throat.

She’s positive that if she’d ever seen this bra before, she would’ve remembered it. Would’ve remembered the delicate lace patterns that cover Angela’s chest, that cup her breasts perfectly. Would’ve remembered the way she loses any coherent thought that isn’t about how gorgeous the woman in front of her is, not until she feels hands run up her back and hot breath at her ear.

“Should that come off as well?”

“No.” She chokes on the word a little, clears her throat and tries again. “No. It can stay. For now.”

Angela laughs again, softly, at her struggling with the words, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth as her hands undo Fareeha’s bra, and Fareeha makes a mental note that maybe she should get some lingerie of her own, turn the tables a little bit sometime down the road.

The thought makes her smile as she wiggles the jeans down off her hips. “I’m starting to think you went to that bar specifically to seduce someone.”

“Is it working?” Angela asks, glancing up at her from the corner of her eye, unzipping her skirt and stepping out of it, revealing that of course it’s a set, of course there’s more black lace across her thighs and hips and Fareeha short circuits again.

This time she has to respond by stepping forward, by kissing Angela, by running her fingers along all the edges of the lace that decorates her body. She groans when her hands fall to Angela’s ass and find more lace there because she hasn’t even seen it yet but _damn_ it must look amazing, and Angela takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss and she tastes like red wine and Fareeha is so far gone for this woman. Because Angela’s canting her hips back into Fareeha’s hands, because her mouth is now tracing Fareeha’s jaw, because her fingers are hooked into Fareeha’s jeans, pushing them further down.

But Fareeha’s trying to shift, trying to draw Angela even closer, slot her thigh between Angela’s, and she gets a little tangled in the denim and starts to overbalance.

Angela, sweet, loving, compassionate Angela, doesn’t catch her. Angela redirects her momentum and lets her fall onto her back on the bed.

Laughing, Fareeha quickly shucks the jeans completely, because Angela is on her hands and knees above her, because Angela is looking pleased with herself and confident and just so, so beautiful. (She looks a little relieved at the laughter, at the confirmation that Fareeha is okay, and Fareeha loves her for it. Because somehow even moments like that are perfect instead of awkward.)

“Like what you see?” she smirks up at Angela, and her wife just tips her head to one side, a smile playing around her lips.

“Not yet,” she counters and her fingers stop at the top of Fareeha’s boy shorts, glancing up at her for her nod, waiting for her hips to lift to let Angela draw them down her legs and drop them over the side of the bed. “Now,” she says, the vowel extended this time, the word oozing with satisfaction. “That’s exactly what I wanted.”

And at another time Fareeha might laugh again at that, might tighten her abs and run Angela’s fingers over them, ask her if she likes what she feels too. But whether it’s the lace or the drawl to her voice, whether it’s the whiskey burning in her stomach or something else altogether, all Fareeha can do is beckon Angela up and closer, pulling her into a kiss. She’s acutely aware of all the places their bodies are touching; Angela’s knees on either side of her thighs, her palm resting gently on her ribs, her teeth nipping at Fareeha’s lower lip.

It’s not enough.

Her hands tighten on Angela’s hips, trying to pull her closer, but though Angela sways with the unexpected pressure, she steadies herself and keeps herself up, preserving the couple of inches between them.

“Patience,” Angela says, and Fareeha groans at the lilt in her voice and what it promises.

“Don’t tease,” Fareeha protests in return, trying again to pull her closer.

Angela dips down, yes, but only to press a kiss to Fareeha’s stomach between each word. “Would I ever do something like that?” she asks and blows cool air against her skin, making Fareeha shiver and her muscles clench. But then she sits back, running her fingers over Fareeha’s thighs, watching her carefully. “Do you really want me to not tease?” she asks quietly.

Fareeha draws her back for another kiss, tangling her fingers in her hair and tugging slightly when Angela tries to pull away before Fareeha’s done, making the blonde moan against her lips. “Don’t torture me,” Fareeha whispers. “But your place, your rules.” She doesn’t have the patience for extended teasing (something Angela can be criminally fond of), but she loves the way Angela likes to preen over every noise she drags from her.

The same sort of way that Angela is smirking at her now. “In that case,” she says, and pushes her leg between Fareeha’s, whose legs part eagerly for her. “If you want it…” Her words trail off, but her thigh presses lightly against Fareeha, and Fareeha groans and tosses her head back at the light friction, at the realization of what Angela wants.

She grinds her hips up into Angela’s thigh, and she starts fast and she starts hard, because she knows what Angela will say if she goes slow, because she knows how Angela likes to watch her this way.

(“I like watching you,” Angela had admitted with a shy smile earlier on in their relationship. “All those muscles on display,” she’d laughed before she’d quieted down, before she’d been unable to hide the honesty behind the laughter. “You’re gorgeous, Fareeha. And watching you take what you want is really-“ Her fingers had fluttered over Fareeha’s skin, as restless as her mind searching for the right words. And then she’d given up, had buried her face in the crook of Fareeha’s neck. “It’s really hot,” she’d said, and Fareeha had hidden her smirk in Angela’s hair, trying to decide if the proper seeming doctor had ever said that combination of words before in her life.)

And Angela _is_ watching her, holding her steady and holding her close, leaning down now only to whisper encouragement, hissing when Fareeha’s blunt nails dig into her shoulders. She turns her face to kiss her neck, to bite her shoulder when Fareeha’s hips start to stutter and lose rhythm. “I love you,” Angela murmurs, lips tickling the shell of her ear. “Come for me.”

And Fareeha can’t hold back even if she wants to, Angela’s name falling from her lips in a moan as she falls over the edge. She collapses back into the sheets, breathing heavily, still managing a smile when gentle fingers brush hair away from her face.

“Fareeha,” she hears as the hands draw away.

“Just… give me a moment to catch my breath.”

She hears Angela chuckle softly. “While you do that, I think you should know-“ Angela’s interrupted by a quiet gasp of her own, and Fareeha’s eyes shoot open, glancing down the bed to where Angela’s still kneeling. The lace of her lingerie does nothing to disguise the slow, languid movement of her hand, her fingers obviously circling her clit as she fights off a whimper, and Fareeha is instantly sitting up, exhaustion banished just like that. “I changed my mind,” she finishes.

Fareeha tears her gaze away from Angela’s hand to her eyes, pupils wide and dark. “Changed it about what?” Teasing her, now that she’s gotten the edge off?

“I’d like to see you wearing the strap-on,” she says, and a new heat washes over Fareeha’s skin at the way Angela’s hips roll when she speaks. “Could you do that for me?”

At least this time she doesn’t have clothes on to trip over, because Fareeha doesn’t think even her old drill sergeant ever made her move so fast - so fast she nearly opens the larger nightstand drawer right into her shin. Not that Angela’s helping her calm any; she’s only let herself grow louder, Fareeha’s fingers fumbling with the straps that she hoists over her hips at a low moan that sounds like Angela’s about to come whether Fareeha is ready or not.

Finally she gets the harness secure in the way she likes, the toy seated just right, and she turns back to the bed. “Do I need-“

Angela simply removes her hand from between her legs with a slow smile, and a quiet “shit” escapes Fareeha’s lips when she sees how Angela’s fingers glisten.

“Come here.” Angela beckons her back onto the bed, and Fareeha kneels next to her, sitting back on her heels as Angela reaches for the toy, running her wet fingers up and down the toy, pressing the base into Fareeha’s still sensitive clit and making her gasp as her body throbs in response. Angela chuckles but releases her, waiting until Fareeha’s eyes open again to ask, “Are you okay like this, or do you want to lie down?”

“This,” Fareeha answers immediately, because the strain on her legs will be worth having Angela closer. There are a lot of things that are worth it. “We can move later if it’s too much.”

Humming an agreement, Angela slides her panties off and straddles Fareeha’s hips without further delay. And it’s Fareeha’s turn to watch as Angela guides the head to her entrance, as the toy slips inside her, drawing a sigh from her. Her hands find Fareeha’s shoulders, and Fareeha’s hands steady her hips, helping her control her descent, letting her set the pace. She’s watching until Angela’s fingers slide up her neck and under her chin, tilting her face up so that their eyes can meet.

And as thrilling as watching that was, as much as it made heat pool in her stomach and race under her skin, Angela is looking at her with such lust and love and trust that Fareeha shudders at it, finds she cannot look away. It lasts until Angela’s hips meet Fareeha’s, making Angela’s eyes flutter shut as she whimpers softly and Fareeha fights to keep her hips from jerking at the sound.

And it’s that moment of connection that makes Fareeha realize, as her hands move to Angela’s back, pulling her closer (another whimper at the change of angle), as she leans forward to trace the edge of the lace with her tongue.

Because even though Angela’s been calling the shots all evening, it’s all been done with Fareeha clearly at the front of her mind. It’s in the way that her fingers thread through Fareeha’s hair and their eyes lock together as Angela begins to move, to rise and fall slowly, to roll her hips straight into Fareeha’s just to hear how her breath hitches this time. It’s in the way her hands start to roam up her own stomach, over the bra, cupping her own breasts and letting her head roll back in pleasure, all as a show for the woman beneath her. In the little ways that she’s checked in all night long, in the way that, even when she’s panting, even when her eyes are starting to glaze over with pleasure, she’s stroking her fingers over Fareeha’s trembling thighs in a silent question.

The way that, when Fareeha’s control starts to slip, when she starts swearing between her teeth and telling Angela how good she feels, fuck, how amazing she is, how goddamn beautiful she is- Angela shifts the angle so that the toy hits Fareeha just right even as she murmurs, “hold on just a bit longer for me, häsli.”

Fareeha swallows her moan, hides her desperation in Angela’s skin until her wife is shuddering apart above her, and she lets herself go with a shout.

With her arms wrapped carefully around Angela, Fareeha lays back, groaning at the relief in her legs as well as the aftershocks rippling through her. Angela shivers as well, pressing down on Fareeha’s shoulders to still her as she tries to adjust her position again.

“No more moving,” she complains, though her tone is anything but upset.

Carefully, Fareeha grabs the nearby blanket and drapes it over them as Angela snuggles closer. “So I,” she says, pausing as Angela’s fingers trace over her still very sensitive skin, “I liked the lingerie.”

She feels Angela’s slow smirk against her shoulder, hears the confident drawl from the bar back in her voice. “I noticed.”

And Fareeha's really going to enjoy repaying that little surprise.


End file.
